Fear Drive My Feet

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Authors: Peter Ryan
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the water sweeping us downstream almost irresistibly. Without the assistance
of the old man several times I would have fallen. By the time we had covered the
twenty yards’ width of the river we were at least fifty yards downstream from the
point where we had entered the water on the opposite bank.
    I took off my shirt to wring the water out, and watched the carriers, who were preparing
for the crossing by rolling their loincloths up round their waists to leave their
legs unhampered. Holding his load high in the air, each man plunged in and started
running, jumping up and down as he went. My patrol-box, the only double load of the
cargo, was carried by two men. Lashed to a pole, it swayed wildly to and fro between
them as they held it clear of the water. I watched them anxiously, for the box contained
all my essential possessions, including the precious map I had obtained from Bill
Chaffey. In the course of several journeys up and down the Erap I never ceased to
wonder how the carriers managed the distance without falling, with that awkward load
jolting about between them. When I expressed my admiration for their agility they
merely grinned, and twisted the water from their loincloths. ‘Something – nothing,
master,’ they said. ‘This river doesn’t often become too flooded for us to cross.’
And they went on to explain a phenomenon of the Erap – that as soon as it was seen
to be raining in the mountains they knew they could safely cross the river, for the
flood would not reach the flat for some time.
    ‘When the flood does come, though, it is like a wave, and there is no hope if you
are caught in midstream,’ said the luluai as the men picked up the loads and set
off again.
    We walked fast, and without stopping to rest, across the stony ground, with the heat
growing fiercer all the way. When we crossed the Markham ‘road’ – a faint dusty track
that led down to Lae – Kari and the other boys could find no sign of its having been
used recently. Certainly there were no footprints of Japanese to be seen.
    Fast as we walked, however, the hills seemed to recede with every step. Even by two
o’clock they seemed no nearer for our hours of marching across the plain. Then, about
half past three, the Erap’s banks suddenly became higher, and the stream took a more
defined course. The hills all at once looked less blue, and quite close. Within half
an hour we were well inside the Erap Gorge, its steep walls rising ever higher as
we went. Kari said that another half-hour’s walk and one more crossing of the river
would bring us to Bivoro. A few stunted banana-plants were clustered here and there,
and we passed one small garden of taro where people had recently been working.
    Confined in this ever-narrowing bed, the Erap became even more swift and turbulent.
The luluai called to us to hurry. There were signs, he said, that the flood was coming,
and if we did not reach the crossing swiftly we would be forced to camp in the open
for the night. He rushed to the water’s edge and called to me to follow.
    ‘We can cross here,’ he said.‘You come with me now.’ And for what seemed the hundredth
time that day we were struggling through the water. Actually, I think we had crossed
the river fifteen times in all since leaving Kirkland’s.
    Once across, the luluai started to shout and wave his arms madly to the carriers,
who had arrived at the water’s edge; and they, in turn, gesticulated and pointed
upstream. I could see that they too were shouting, but their voices were drowned
by the roar of the river. Then, suddenly making up their minds, carriers, women with
children, and the two police dashed into the water and struggled across to us.
    They were just in time, for they had barely reached the bank when the level of the
water started to rise. Within two minutes we were deafened by the roar of the stream
and the rumble of the boulders. Nothing could have survived the boiling yellow swirl
of water that rushed away to

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